I Say It Just to Reach You, Julia
by Izabella
Summary: WDBN sequal. Syd resurfaces 2 years after WDBN as Julia Thorne. Vaughn willingly commits himself to a life of torment, living and sleeping beside her, loving her, but receiving only coldness in return. What will it take to bring Syd back?
1. Chapter 1

**This is the sequel to _When Dreams Become Nightmares_. You don't have to read WDBN to understand it, although I wish you would read it anyway cause I spent a lot of hours on it : )  
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**Summary of WDBN (But you really should read the real thing!): Syd is working for SD-6, but she thinks it's the CIA. After uncovering the Rambaldi prophecy with Sydney's (or a woman who looks exactly like her) picture, the CIA orders that she be taken into cusody and subjected to a number of tests to determine whether she really is the Chosen One. ****Vaughn, a CIA agent, is assigned the task of bringing her in, but after meeting her one time, he develops feelings for her, and convinces his boss Kendall to ****let him ****get to know Syd and gradually start asking her questions that would reveal whether she really is the woman in the prophecy. ****When the FBI hears of the prophecy, however, they freak out and order Sydney's immediate assassination. They catch up with her and open fire while she's on a "date" with Vaughn. Syd escapes, but soon thereafter passes out due to loss of blood from a bullet wound. ****When she wakes up, she discovers that her father and Vaughn found her and are trying to get her to safety. They tell her that the CIA, FBI, and Alliance are all after her. Jack draws up an elaborate extraction plan that allows Syd and Vaughn to go into hiding. He mentions a group called the Covenant that is also looking for Sydney. Syd is reluctant to spend her life looking over her shoulder, but she realizes this is her only option. Fast forward six months. Syd is living with Vaughn in some remote location. They are very happy together - she's forgiven him for his deceit. He proposes and she accepts. Then he goes out for a walk. While he's gone, Sydney is abducted. The end.**

** This story, the sequel, picks up 4 years after WDBN left off. Enjoy! Review please!**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Alias or anything related to it. Bla bla bla. The lyrics in this chapter and the title of the story are taken from the Beatles song "Julia" from the White Album. **

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Chapter 1**

A young man dressed in a tuxedo sat, slouching slightly, on a leather couch. He was sipping a glass of wine. His eyes were sad, green. The only sounds in the house were the buzz of a hair drier from the bathroom and a quiet hum coming from the stereo across the room.

_Half of what I say is meaningless  
But I say it just to reach you, Julia_

_Julia, Julia, oceanchild, calls me  
So I sing a song of love, Julia  
Julia, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me  
So I sing a song of love, Julia_

_Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering,  
In the sun_

_Julia, Julia, morning moon, touch me  
So I sing a song of love, Julia_

_When I cannot sing my heart  
I can only speak my mind, Julia_

_Julia, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me  
So I sing a song of love, Julia  
Hum hum hum...calls me  
So I sing a song of love for Julia, Julia, Julia_

The hair drier turned off. Stiletto heels clicked across the tile floor. The man sat up straight and took a deep breath. He turned his head and saw her. It was always the same. The same half-whispered hope rising to the surface every time he heard her coming. Then buried again. Each time, he swore, gone forever.

She was all shimmers and jewels. _Julia_. Dressed in a strappy evening gown. Silver. Like the band around her slender ring finger. Her hair was blond. Long, flowy, soft. Eyes, chocolate brown. Empty.

"I hate this song," she remarked. Voice emotionless. She walked across the room and flicked the stereo off. "Are you ready?"

The man nodded. He stood up and followed her out of the house.

"Is something the matter, Michael?" she asked when they were inside the car. He could tell from her voice that her concern was just a formality.

"You know I hate it when you turn my music off," he replied, equally detached.

"_Stop listening to sappy crap and I won't have to," she said with a dimply smirk._

No, that was Sydney.

Julia tossed her hair back and shrugged. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Julia allowed him to open the door for her when they arrived at the hotel. She put her arm inside of his when they entered the ballroom. Not a moment sooner.

Her touch was warm.

* * *

_Two Years Earlier_

A woman's body washed up on the shores of a Los Angeles bay. A passerby saw her limp, eerily attractive form and called the police. In the meantime he began frantically performing CPR on her. After about thirty seconds, she coughed, spit up some water, and regained consciousness.

She leapt up and tackled the man. She pinned him to the ground and held a knife to his throat. She would have killed him, the man had no doubt, he could see it in her eyes, the cold resolve. But the police pulled up at that moment and pried her off of him.

Several hours later she was identified as Sydney Bristow and taken into CIA custody.

* * *

"Please state your name and age for the record." 

"Julia Thorne. Twenty-four."

"Does the name _Sydney Bristow_ mean anything to you?"

"No. Should it?"

Her inquisitor shifted in his seat. "What have you been doing for the past two years?"

"Working as an agent for the Covenant."

The man dropped his pen. "Ms. Bri…excuse me, Ms. Thorne, are you aware of the implications of that confession?"

Julia bowed her head. She looked up at the man from the corners of her eyes. She smiled. It was a hollow smile, devoid of any joy. "Do I look like someone who cares?"

Her inquisitor looked her over. Though she had been given a clean, dry set of clothes since her bath in the bay the day before, she was still in pretty bad shape. There was a deep gash across her forehead, one of her eyes was black, and then there was that fresh, almost surgical-looking cut across her stomach…

"Very well," he said at last. "What was the nature of your employment with the Covenant? Tell me every assignment you were given. I want specifics."

* * *

Michael Vaughn was pacing furiously back and forth across Jack Bristow's office. 

"I don't understand why you won't give me clearance to see her," he spat.

Jack rocked back in his chair and sighed. For the first time Vaughn could remember, he looked old. He looked tired, worn out, jaded. It frightened Vaughn.

"Is it that bad?" he asked quietly.

Jack raised his head and looked at Vaughn. Vaughn could tell from the look in his eyes that it was worse than "that bad."

"Do you think she's telling the truth?" he asked. "She really believes she's this Thorne person?"

"As far as our lie detectors can tell, Agent Vaughn, she's telling the truth. And now that she confessed to working with the Covenant, now that she confessed _everything_…" his voice trailed off.

"They're going to try for the death penalty, aren't they," Vaughn said. His voice was flat.

"Yes, and they'll get it. The list of murders she committed…it rivals that of her mother." He shook his head.

"We can't let this happen! Even if the worst is true, even if she's been fully brainwashed…"

"That wouldn't be the worst," Jack cut in.

Vaughn knew what he was thinking. _Maybe Sydney's transformation into Julia wasn't the result of conditioning. Maybe it was her choice_. The thought made him both hopeful and terrified. If she wasn't brainwashed, there was a chance of bringing Sydney back. But the fact that she had voluntarily turned herself into this monster…

"I don't care!" said Vaughn heatedly, slamming his fist down on Jack's desk. "I don't care what the truth is. I love that woman. I'm going to break her out of here, with or without your help."

Jack looked up, and Vaughn saw that he'd finally gotten through to him.

"Good," Jack said. "I was hoping you'd feel that way. I have a plan laid out for her extraction."

Vaughn nodded. He had hoped for, even expected, something like this. "I want to go with her," he said simply. "Wherever you plan to hide her, I'm going there with her."

"Michael," said Jack…it was the first time he'd ever called him anything but_ Agent Vaughn_. "Sydney's physical condition indicates that she was most likely not released willingly from the Covenant. The CIA wants to sentence her to death. Are you aware of the risks involved with accompanying her…with abetting her?"

_All I know is that the woman who died two years ago is my entire life. Even if this woman, this Julia Thorne, is only a shadow of Sydney Bristow, or some contorted version of her, I will risk everything to be with her. Without her I am nothing. _

Jack seemed to read his thoughts. "Meet me at the usual spot tonight and we'll discuss the logistics. There is one catch though," he said.

"What's that?"

"In order for the plan to work, you'll have to be married."

* * *

The two years of married life had past slowly, but without incident. Vaughn never for a moment regretted his choice, even though Julia never showed any hint of recognition for him, any spark of love, of desire… 

_That's not true, _said the ever-present voice in his head. He tried to subdue that voice…it brought him hope, and hope was too painful.

_But there had been times…he could count them on one hand…twice during their lovemaking, which was extremely rare, he had felt her tremble under his touch. And once at a friend's baby shower, when their eyes had met..._

"You could at least act like you're happy to be here," Julia said to him as they walked into the ballroom. Her words were sharp, but her tone benign.

As had been happening lately in these instances, a sarcastic retort rose to the tips of Vaughn's lips. But he held it back. Julia had his arm inside of his…even through the jacket of his tuxedo, he could feel the warmth of her skin. He concentrated on that feeling, and soon he forgot his momentary bitterness.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked. It was a bold move. It had been ages since he'd even tried anything romantic with her. He wasn't sure what made him do it tonight…maybe it was the fact that she still had her arm tucked under his even though everyone at the party had already seen them walk in. Maybe it was the glass of wine he'd drank at home while waiting for her.

Julia raised her eyebrows and reached her hand up, as if to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. But she didn't complete the motion…_That was a Sydney move_.

"I should go mingle. People will expect it."

_People will expect wives to dance with their husbands_, Vaughn almost said. Instead he took a step closer to her and clasped her hands. They were cold.

"You look beautiful tonight," he whispered into her ear.

Julia looked away from him, her eyes scanning the room in recon. It was an old habit of theirs, unshakeable even after two years.

"Dance with me, Julia," he said quietly.

He was pleading with her. He had to hold onto her; the feeling of her hands wrapped securely in his sent fire running through his veins. Julia looked up at him and for one flash of a second, he thought he saw something in her eyes…it was her own form of pleading, a rare display of vulnerability. But it was gone just as soon, replaced by the usual confident emptiness.

"Maybe later, Michael."

She withdrew her hands and was gone.

* * *

Later that night as they lay at opposite ends of their king size bed, Vaughn saw that she was crying into her pillow. She did so silently...Vaughn knew she would have hated it if she knew he was a witness to her emotional display. He wouldn't have noticed at all, except for the almost imperceptible shaking of her thin frame. Crying at night wasn't an uncommon event for Julia, but it always broke his heart. He longed to put his arms around her, to cradle her, comfort her, but he knew better than that. 

He had tried it once before and she nearly strangled him.

Suddenly the crying stopped.

"Michael," she whispered. There was fear in her voice.

"What is it?"

"Did you lock the door?"

He sighed. "Of course."

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**A/N: Well, what do you think? See, I told you I'd have the sequel up in a jiffy, and here it is, same day as the last chapter of WDBN was posted. I am amazing. Slashhhh I have no life. Ahem. Anyway, leave me lots of reviews please. Be brutally honest!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews everyone. It might be a little confusing right now, but I promise, all your questions will be answered in due time. Probably. Muwahahaha. I'm having such a good time writing this story. I've been wanting to toy with the Julia Thorne story-line for ages, and when the Beatles song "Julia" popped up on my playlist the other day, I was suddenly inspired with an idea. So you have the Beatles to thank (or curse) for this. Anyway...I hope you enjoy. Let me know if anything doesn't make sense or is awkward-sounding.**

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**End of Chapter 1:**

Later that night as they lay at opposite ends of their king size bed, Vaughn saw that she was crying into her pillow. She did so silently...Vaughn knew she would have hated it if she knew he was a witness to her emotional display. He wouldn't have noticed at all, except for the almost imperceptible shaking of her thin frame. Crying at night wasn't an uncommon event for Julia, but it always broke his heart. He longed to put his arms around her, to cradle her, comfort her, but he knew better than that.

He had tried it once before and she nearly strangled him.

Suddenly the crying stopped.

"Michael," she whispered. There was fear in her voice.

"What is it?"

"Did you lock the door?"

He sighed. "Of course."

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**Chapter 2**

Long after her husband's breathing had deepened and slowed to the peaceful rhythm of sleep, Julia lie awake and wide-eyed. Adrenaline raced through her veins any time the house creaked or she saw car headlights reflected through the window.

After about an hour of this torture – which in the last few months had become a nightly event – Julia, scrutinizing her husband to be sure he really was unconscious, sat straight up in bed and counted back from 1000, while simultaneously fixing her hair in a tight braid, undoing it, and redoing it, seven times. It was an old sleep-inducing trick she had learned from a Covenant psychologist.

When she lay back down, Vaughn's breath began to quicken, until he jolted in bed and cried out, "Syd, don't do this, you're making a mistake!" Julia turned her head away and inched herself even further away from Vaughn, so that she was practically hanging off the edge of the bed. She looked at the clock. _4:28 AM. _She sighed.

Once his nightmare was over, Vaughn rolled over so that his body was pressed up against Julia's. Still sound asleep, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so that her whole body was back on the bed. Soon his breathing grew slow and heavy again, and Julia allowed herself to be calmed by the steady rhythm of it. The next time she opened her eyes, the clock read _5:47 AM. _She gently unraveled herself from Vaughn's embrace, rolled him back over to his side of the bed, and got up.

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Vaughn was awakened from his sleep by a violent clanging sound two hours later. He jumped out of bed and stumbled down the stairs. 

"Julia, are you ok?" he cried anxiously as he came into the kitchen. It was then that he became aware of the delicious aroma permeating the air.

She looked up at him blankly. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"I heard a loud noise. I was afraid that maybe…"

"I dropped a pot," she said quickly.

"Oh." He breathed a sigh of relief. Then, surveying the room, he said, "Good God, you've cooked enough food to feed a small army. What's the occasion?"

"The Johnsons are dropping off Tara tonight for us to watch while they go to a movie," Julia replied, not looking up from the counter where she was chopping vegetables. "Don't you remember? Melanie asked us to do it last night – you were standing right there."

"I remember, I remember. But Tara is an infant…she's not going to be able to eat half of this stuff."

Julia paused from chopping onions for a moment and looked up at him. Although her expression was perfectly blank, he sensed a strange sort of tension brimming at the surface…but then, he reminded himself, Julia had always acted a bit strange when it came to little Tara Johnson.

"I mean seriously," he continued, "you're knocking yourself out over there, you've got to remember Tara is a baby…"

"I know she's a baby, Michael, she's 15 months old," Julia shot back. Her tone was still mild, but the quickness of the response and the momentary flash in her eyes suggested that she was perhaps not as calm as she was pretending to be.

"I just want everything to be perfect," she said quietly.

_That was Julia. Everything looked perfect on the outside. But the inside? Was it hollow? Or was it just sealed off, a sea of turmoil churning somewhere deep underneath the layers of placidity? _

"Well, is there anything I can help you with?" he asked.

"No."

Vaughn nodded, not surprised. Julia was a very independent, do-it-yourself kind of person. Similar to Sydney in that way.

"Alright," he said. "I'll be in the study."

He walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs. Julia looked up from the cutting board once he was out of the room and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

* * *

_Access to secure server granted._

_PianoMan417: How is she today?_

_HockeyDude523: About the same._

_PianoMan417: About?_

_HockeyDude523: We are babysitting Tara Johnson tonight._

_PianoMan417: I see. How is she behaving?_

_HockeyDude523: She spent the morning cooking a lamb roast and about seven other dishes to go with it. For a 15 month baby._

_PianoMan417: Is it still correct that her only emotional displays to date have been connected with the child?_

Vaughn thought back to the two sexual encounters – both of which had occurred many months ago – when he'd felt a connection between himself and Julia. But he decided to omit that information.

_Hockeydude523: Yes, that's correct. The first time I ever sensed an actual emotion in her was at Melanie Johnson's baby shower, just a few weeks before Tara was born._

_PianoMan417: Right, you told me that before. Watch her carefully tonight. If she betrays any hint of emotion – if she does anything out of the ordinary – I want to hear about it._

_HockeyDude523: Of course. And you'll continue looking into Case 21225? You know, the key to this whole mystery probably lies in there…_

_PianoMan417: I'm aware. I wonder what the hell you think I spend my days doing?_

Vaughn rocked back in the desk chair and ran his hands through his hair. He let out a painful sigh and then rocked back forward.

_HockeyDude523: This isn't easy on me either, you know._

_PianoMan417: I know. I'm sorry._

_HockeyDude523: She's coming upstairs – I have to go. _

_PianoMan417: Take care of her. _

_HockeyDude523: I will._

* * *

Julia walked down the hallway and stopped in the doorway of the study. 

"Is everything okay?" Vaughn asked.

"There's a new movie coming out tonight," she said. "Lots of blood and gore. I overheard some people at the party last night talking about it."

"You want to go this weekend?" he asked with a smile.

"You should go see it with some of the guys tonight."

"But I thought we were watching Tara tonight…"

"I can handle her on my own. And it's so rare that you get a night to yourself. Really, Michael, you should go. I want you to." She flashed him a regal smile.

He knew it would be good for him to get out of the house for a night…a brief respite from the monotonous agony that was his life with Julia, most of the time. But at the same time…Julia encouraging him to leave her alone was a rare event.

Although he couldn't claim that she loved him – even liked him, really – he could see that she had slipped into a sort of comfort zone when in his presence. She didn't need to be talking to him, touching him, or even in the same room as him, necessarily. Just knowing he was nearby, that he would come if she called him, seemed to give her a strange peace. So it was unusual that she would flat out ask…no, _demand_ (he had seen the look in her eyes…it was an order, not a request) that he leave her alone for an entire evening.

Unusual, yes, but also, he thought, perfectly, wonderfully logical. Vaughn was acutely aware of Julia's sensitivity concerning Tara Johnson. But Julia was even more aware of Vaughn's perception that sensitivity. To have him there, watching her every move, waiting for her to betray an emotion, when they both knew that she was infamously emotionless, was simply not an option. So she had asked him to leave.

And despite everything, he hated to do it. Yes, he was desperately in need of a night to himself, a momentary escape. Hanging out with the guys, with normal people who weren't living in hiding, who weren't ex-spies, whose lives weren't full of lies, would be a healthy, rejuvenating move. But the truth was, ever since that night four years ago when he had gone out for a walk after Sydney Bristow agreed to marry him and returned to find their house burned to ash – the only relic of their life together, a small diamond ring that now rested on Julia's finger – he could never feel anything like ease when he was separated from her.

But Julia demanded it.

"Sure," he conceded. "That could be fun."

* * *

The movie had been going for about an hour when Vaughn felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He reached for it hastily…what if something had happened to her? The caller ID told him the call was coming from his house. 

"Julia?" he whispered anxiously, quietly enough so that none of the guys would hear him call her by her real name. To them, she was Monica and he was John. Mr. and Mrs. John Turner.

All he got in response were muffled sobs. He stood up immediately, muttered an apology to the guys that he had to go, and made his way out of the crowded theater. He had never heard her like this. Sydney used to cry, but not Julia. Never Julia. Not when she was awake, anyway.

"Julia, what's the matter?"

"Something's wrong with the baby," she sobbed. "C-could you come home now, please?"

"Yes, of course…are _you_ alright?"

"I'm fine. Just hurry!"

* * *

"I'll tell you what, men," said one of the guys. They had all gone to the local bar after the movie finished. "I've never seen anyone as utterly pussy-whipped as John Turner. His wife raises one finger, and BAM, he's out the door on whatever cock-blasting mission she's conjured up for him. Never puts up a fight." 

"Yeah, but she lets him sleep in the same bed as her," said one of the other men, swallowing a gulp of beer. "He gets to sleep in the same bed as Monica Turner. I bet there aren't many things any of the guys sitting here at this table _wouldn't _do for a woman like Monica."

The men chuckled, and all but the one who initiated the conversation, Chuck Barrels, nodded in agreement.

"I don't know," said Chuck, fingering his mug. "I just don't know. Monica Turner is good to look at. There's no denying it. But there's something about her that's not quite right, know what I mean? I can't put my finger on it."

"Well it's not her legs," said one of the guys.

"Or her ass," said another. Everyone laughed.

"Still," said Chuck, not placated, "there's something fishy about the Turners. I don't care how much sex he's getting from her – and something tells me that man hasn't been laid in a good while, actually – no man should allow himself to be leashed as tightly as John Turner is to his wife."

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Vaughn sprinted to his car and drove off, weaving in-and-out of traffic going around 90 mph (he was pleased that he still remembered how to drive that way after having been out of the spy world for two years). He made it home in record time, jumped out of the car, and ran into the kitchen, where an ashen Julia was holding and frantically patting little Tara. Silent tears were streaming down her face. 

"What's the matter with her?"

"She's not breathing right...What are you doing?"

Vaughn gently reached down to take the baby out of Julia's hands, even though he could tell Julia would have preferred to keep holding Tara herself. Tara was breathing in little choked gasps, and her face had taken on a blueish tinge.

"I think we should call 911," Julia said.

Vaughn looked up abruptly. "Julia…you know we can't do that. Imagine what could happen if the police got us on record…"

"TARA COULD DIE!" she screamed. "What could you possibly imagine that would be worse than that?"

Vaughn slapped the baby's back; she coughed and spit up a sliver of lamb roast. In a few moments, her breathing was back to normal. He laid her down in the portable crib the Johnsons had provided, and she promptly fell asleep.

Julia slumped down into a chair and buried her face in her arms. Her back was trembling, and Vaughn could tell she was still crying.

"I was never meant to be a mother," he heard her mumble between sobs.

He went over to her and gently put a hand on her back. She snapped her head up immediately and recoiled from his touch.

"We should have called 911," she said angrily.

"You know we can't do that," Vaughn replied, trying desperately to conceal his growing frustration.

"You're so selfish," Julia snapped. "All you can think of is your own safety. Tara could have died."

"I can't believe this," Vaughn said, throwing his arms up in the air, and for once, submitting to the anger. "I can't believe you're calling me selfish. I sacrificed _everything_ for you, Julia. And for what? My very touch seems to repulse you."

Julia just stared at him, silenced for the moment. But Vaughn wasn't finished.

"I wish, for once, you would just tell me what's going on in your head. I stay here with you day after day, hoping and praying that you'll give me some sign that I didn't throw my life away for nothing, some sign that – "

"That what?" Julia interrupted. "That your precious Sydney Bristow is still alive?"

"No, I didn't say that – "

"Yes you did. You say it every day. Every time you look at me, speak to me, touch me…it's all you think about. You're in love with a woman I don't even know. So yeah, Michael, I too spend a lot of time wondering what the hell you're doing here. Because I can tell you one thing. I am not Sydney Bristow."

Vaughn slammed his fist on the table. "Damnit, that's not what this is about. I didn't even mean to bring any of that up. Let's talk about Tara."

He saw Julia tense up. "What about her?"

"I'm gonna be honest with you for once, Julia. I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same. You are a cold, seemingly untouchable person. But when you're with that baby, you come alive. I want to know why. Why does a little infant who's not even yours inspire in you emotions stronger than the ones you feel for your own husband?"

Julia shook her head. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Michael. You're imagining things. I'm going to bed. You can keep an eye on the baby until the Johnsons get back."

She turned and left the room. After Vaughn's anger had ebbed, he realized something. For the first time in two years, he had gotten under Julia's skin. He smiled.

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** Review Please: )**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I added a large chunk to this today (jan 27) so if you read it before then, you should re-read! Hopefully I will write the next chapter and post it within a week. It all depends on the muse : )

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**Chapter 3**

Long after Julia had gone to bed and the Johnsons had picked up Tara, Vaughn sat up in the den, nursing a glass of whiskey, listening to the only song that meant anything to him these days.

_Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering,  
In the sun_

As always, that verse made him recall the event that had made his life what it was today.

They had arrived in Charleston, South Carolina – their new home – marriage license in hand, but there had been no time for an actual ceremony before their hasty escape from L.A. Mr. and Mrs. Turner were united on paper, but not in deed. Julia didn't seem at all disgruntled by that fact, but Vaughn, still held by the romantic fantasies which he would gradually relinquish, absolutely insisted upon it. He and Sydney had always imagined a small wedding on the beach, and that's what Vaughn demanded that they do.

"Syd," he said…for he still thought of her that way in those days, "Just think how beautiful it would be. We could do it at sunset…just you, me, and the chaplain."

Julia looked up at him, her eyes still sealed over with that glossy blankness she had been sporting since she turned up on the bank of the L.A. bay a few days earlier. All she said was, "My name is Julia."

"Whatever," Vaughn said, not allowing himself to be disgruntled. At this point, he was still so relieved that she wasn't dead that there was practically nothing she could say to provoke him. "Julia, Sydney, Monica…whatever your name is, I love you, and I want to marry you on the beach tomorrow evening. Please?"

Julia squinted slightly…he could tell she was mulling it over.

"It would be just like we imagined," he said softly, taking a step toward her. "Don't you remember?"

She backed away. "No, Michael, I don't. But if this is what it's going to take to appease you, I'll do it."

Vaughn stepped forward and threw his arms around her, reveling in the warmth of her small frame pressed up against him. She didn't back away this time…she simply stood there like a brick, indifferent to his touch, _to his very existence_, he thought now, swishing the whiskey around in his mouth.

The day of their wedding was perfect. The air was warm and sweet-smelling, and the sky a pure blue, sprinkled with a few wispy white clouds. It was an ideal Charleston summer afternoon. Julia wore a crinkly brown dress…the same one Sydney had worn during their ill-fated ocean-side date, two years before. After rescuing her that night on the beach, Jack had taken the dress from her and carefully washed out the blood stains from her bullet-wound. That dress meant something to him, too. It had belonged to Laura.

When Vaughn and Julia fled from L.A. a few days before, Jack had provided them with a bag full of a few living-essentials. Some deodorant, toothpaste, a marriage license, drivers licenses, passports, and Laura's dress.

When he saw her come out of their bedroom wearing that dress, Vaughn was certain she did it intentionally. He was sure it was her way of telling him that she did remember everything, that despite her cold demeanor, she still loved him. But now, two years later, swallowing the last of the whiskey, he cursed himself for being such an idiot. Of course she had worn that dress. It was the only one she had.

They walked down to the beach in silence. Vaughn kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye to be sure she was real, to be sure something as beautiful as she could actually exist in this world – could actually be walking beside him, about to marry him. Julia kept her eyes focused straight ahead. For her, it was just another mission. She slid her arm into his when they reached the viewing-range of the chaplain. Not a moment sooner.

Suddenly she paused.

"What is it?" Vaughn asked.

She raised her hand, as if to tuck her hair behind her ear, and then dropped it…it was a motion Vaughn would become quite familiar with in the months to come.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean everything," she whispered, not wanting the chaplain to hear. "You've given up your whole life, risked everything, and for what? Some woman who washed up on a Los Angeles shore a few days ago, who happens to resemble your dead girlfriend? Tell me why you're doing this."

"Because I love you," Vaughn replied without thinking. And it was true. In many ways, this woman, this Julia Thorne, was nothing like the Sydney Bristow he had fallen in love with two years ago. But as he looked at her there on the beach, her blonde hair _shimmering, glimmering in the sun_, he knew without a doubt that he loved her.

And so he married her. As the yellow sun faded into a peaceful pink, and the waves crashed around their bare feet, Vaughn and Julia exchanged simple vows, and in a way, Vaughn thought, as he put the empty glass down and stood up to turn the music off, it really had been the happiest day of his life.

* * *

He walked slowly up the stairs to their bedroom, surprised and pleased to find it pitch black. Normally when Julia went to bed before him, she would leave the closet light on so he could see. But tonight he had provoked her, and he took the lack of light to be further evidence of that fact. 

She had left the window open though, and the soft glow from the full moon made it possible for him to see well enough. He looked at Julia. She was curled up on her side, hugging her pillow. Her yellow hair hung around her in soft clumps. She looked like a child, pure and innocent. Even though her eyelashes were glistening with recently-shed tears, she looked peaceful. Vaughn quietly stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed with her.

"Jules," he murmured.

"Mmm," was her sleepy reply.

"I love you," he whispered. His entire body ached with love and desire, but he didn't dare touch her.

Then she made a movement, almost imperceptible and ever so slight, to stretch slightly, loosening herself from the tight ball she had been positioned in. Vaughn's heart was racing.

"I love you," he said a bit more loudly, a bit more courageously. She was still for a moment, and then she moved again, turning herself onto her back, so that he could see her face. Her eyes were still closed, but he thought he saw a faint flush on her cheeks.

"Julia," he said, now speaking in a normal voice tone, "I love you. I love you. I love you…"

And suddenly she was on top of him, her mouth covering his face, neck, and lips in hot kisses, her voice letting out low, seductive moans when he ran his hands under her t-shirt, across her flat stomach, reacquainting himself with all the curves of her body, and then her shirt was off, and their bodies were tangled together, and it was better than he could ever remember, more real, more passionate, and more tender than he could ever remember it being, even when she had been Sydney. It was different, too. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a solemnity bordering on sacredness.

Vaughn could hear through the open window the sound of the waves crashing as he lowered himself into her, crashing outside on the shore he had married her on two years ago, crashing with the same solemnity, the same soothing sacredness that had echoed through the windy air when they said their vows.

And as he held her to him, their bodies pressed together, forming one unit that moved with the same rhythm as the sea, Vaughn had an epiphany. This wasn't about Sydney Bristow at all. He knew right then beyond the shadow of a doubt that he really did love _her_. He loved Julia Thorne. He wanted her, he longed for her body, for the touch of her skin against his skin, but more than all that, he loved her. He told her so again and again.

* * *

He had fallen asleep on his back, one arm wrapped protectively around Julia's back and side, the other resting on her hip. She had converted his bare chest into a pillow. But when he awoke, he was alone. He reached his arm over instinctively to feel her, but she wasn't there. The clock told him it was 7:30. _No wonder_, he thought. Julia was always up before 6:00. 

He stumbled out of bed, threw on a bathrobe, and made his way downstairs. Julia was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. When he went over to her and kissed her forehead, she smiled. It was a Sydney smile, full of dimples, and reflecting brilliantly in her brown eyes. Vaughn breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him had been scared that the events of the night had been a figment of his imagination. Or worse, that they _had_ happened, but that Julia would pretend, as she had in past such episodes, that they hadn't, and go back to being cold and taciturn.

But this hadn't been like "past episodes." This had been…he sighed and smiled, running his fingers through her hair. He told her he loved her. She stood up and kissed him.

The rest of the morning passed relatively quietly. John spent the morning in the kitchen, preparing all sorts of aromatic dishes for his home catering service, while Monica sat at the kitchen table, scribbling endlessly in a leather bound notebook, no doubt writing up something or other for one of the magazines that frequently used her stuff.

That had become their life. Monica the dreamy freelance writer and John the wonder-cook. Their jobs suited them well. Not only did both spouses enjoy what they did, but they had also worked it out to be paid under the table. This was a handy perk. Even though Michael Vaughn and Sydney Bristow were officially dead – Jack had staged an elaborate explosion in the prison where Sydney was being held when she first turned up in LA – the Turners thought it was best to stay out of the public light. Hence Vaughn's anxiety about calling 911 during little Tara's choking fit.

"What are you writing?" Vaughn asked, pouring a bowl full of brownie batter into a large pan.

"Movie review. The new _Pride and Prejudice_."

Vaughn made a gagging sound.

"Oh please. Why is it that men always think they have to make fun of Jane Austen in order to maintain their manliness?"

"Probably because they do," said Vaughn. He picked up the bowl he had used to mix the brownie batter in and began licking the sides of it like a dog.

"Yeah, well you could learn a thing or two from Mr. Darcy," she said, rolling his eyes at him.

"What, you don't think this is gentlemanly?" Vaughn asked, pulling his head out of the bowl. His face was smeared with chocolate.

"It's completely disgusting. And if you don't bring the bowl over to me so I can finish it off right this second, you really _will_ need to worry about losing your manhood," she said threateningly, aiming her newly sharpened pencil at his lower region.

Vaughn crinkled his eyebrows as if deep in thought, and then, eyeing the pencil sadly, said, in a tone of mock gravity, "Do your thing then. This brownie batter is more important."

Julia snorted with laughter as she leapt out of her chair and across the room. She put her arms around Vaughn, trying to pry the bowl out of his hands, and somehow in the course of the struggle, Julia, Vaughn, and the bowl ended up in a big heap on the kitchen floor. Julia grabbed the bowl and started to sit up, but Vaughn pulled her back down and smothered her with a chocolatey kiss.

"Mmm," said Julia, pretending to be completely absorbed in the increasingly heated kiss, while she surreptitiously reached behind her back, grabbed the spatula (which had also fallen on the ground), dunked it in the bowl so it was coated thickly in the gooey batter, and then in one swift motion, brought it forward and slathered it all over Vaughn's face.

"Oh my God," Vaughn cried, choking back laughter as he continued to pin down the squirming Julia, "You are so dead, Mrs. Turner. I'm not kidding."

He brought his head down and despite all her efforts to escape, managed to rub his face across her neck, lips, and cheeks, so that she too was now covered in the batter.

"What?" he exclaimed, as she looked up at him in shock

"I can't believe you! I just washed this shirt!" she cried, pointing at her white blouse which was now splattered with chocolate.

"Aw, honey, I'm sorry…I was just giving you what you asked for. The batter, you know…"

Julia continued glaring at him.

"Oh get over it woman, it's just a shirt. It will come out. In fact," he said slyly, moving his hands up onto her stomach and slowly unbuttoning the blouse, "I have the perfect way to fix the problem…"

Julia tried to protest, but there was nothing she could do…when Michael Vaughn's hands were on her, she became completely distracted and helpless. It had always been that way. So she happily submitted, and it wasn't long before a lot more than their faces was covered in brownie batter…

Some minutes or hours later, they sat with their backs up against the kitchen counter. Vaughn had his arm around Julia and she was resting her head on his shoulder.

Suddenly Vaughn took a deep breath, and Julia knew what was coming.

"Are we going to talk about this?" he asked seriously.

She sighed. "About what, Michael?"

"Do I really have to say it?" he asked in frustration.

Julia just looked at him in silence.

"Fine. For the first time in two years of marriage, you actually seem to like me. What changed?"

Julia pushed Vaughn's arm off of her and stood up. "Nothing's changed," she said with a forced smile. "That's just it. I need to finish that article now – deadline's tomorrow."

She kissed him on the top of his head and went back to the kitchen table, where she resumed writing her article. Vaughn, after a moment's reflection, decided not to push it. She _did_ like him…at least for now. That was all that mattered.

* * *

A few days later, Vaughn walked in on Julia dyeing her hair in the bathroom. She smiled when he came in, but he thought he could perceive a faint touch of anxiety in her face. On a whim, he decided to play off of it. 

"Why do you always do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Your natural hair color is beautiful."

She shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess. I've been dyeing it blonde since I was a teenager."

"What are you talking about?" Vaughn asked, allowing himself for a rare moment to forget that she was Julia.

"I have, Michael," she insisted. "Since I was fourteen."

She was pleading with him now; he could see it in her eyes. The cruel part of him wanted to keep pushing her until she broke, until she came sobbing into his arms, and for once, finally, explained why she had transformed herself, why she had buried Sydney.

But he looked into her eyes…those brown, vulnerable eyes he had fallen in love with four years ago, and his heart broke. Because however hard it was for him, he knew it had to be a hundred times worse for her. He went over to her and kissed her lightly on her forehead.

"I'm sure you'd look amazing with any hair color. Even bright purple." He was thinking of the alias she had used on a trip to Madrid, during her SD-6 days.

"Want to help me rinse the dye out?" she asked, slipping off her bathrobe and stepping into the shower.

He needed no further encouragement.

* * *

For three weeks they continued in this bliss, like starry-eyed lovers on their honeymoon. Vaughn did his best to ignore any urges to remind Julia that she was really Sydney. But one morning when he came downstairs, everything changed. 

Julia was lying on the kitchen floor. She was crying hysterically. When she saw Vaughn enter the room, she immediately hid her right hand behind her back. Vaughn ran over to her and tried to pull her up, but she squirmed out of his hands like a wild animal. She stood up and backed into the corner of the room, hand still tucked safely behind her back.

"Julia," he said, trying to hide his panic, "What is the matter?"

She shook her head, but said nothing, tears still streaming down her face. He took a step closer to her.

"Get away from me," she screamed, her entire body quivering.

"I'm not going to hurt you. You know I'd never heard you, Sydney."

"I'm not Sydney!" she shrieked, grabbing a glass plate from the table and flinging it at him. The plate hit the wall and shattered.

"I don't care who you are," he said calmly, still walking closer to her. "I love you."

"I'm Julia, goddamn you! I'm Julia! Julia…"

Her voice began to fade, probably from weariness, as she continued repeating her name. Vaughn was standing right in front of her now. He took one last step and her eyes flashed warningly, but when he took her in his arms, she instantly lost herself in his embrace, and would have crumpled to the ground if he hadn't supported her. He felt as if he were holding a helpless child.

"Julia, then," he whispered, as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. "I love you, Julia."

And as he held her tightly while her endless tears soaked through his shirt, the beautiful simplicity of it was revealed to him, that Julia was Sydney, that Sydney was Julia, that the two parts formed a single person, and that his love for Sydney was only a half, that the reason his ecstasy over the past weeks had been so pure, so wild, so complete, was because he had finally learned to love the whole person.

Suddenly Julia raised her head and took a step back from him. "You think you love me, but you have no idea." Her voice was eerily calm now. "You have no idea what I've done."

"Can't you understand?" he cried. "I don't care what you've done! I love you! That's the only thing that matters."

She made no reply.

"I don't understand," Vaughn continued. "Six hours ago you were completely happy and at peace. What the hell happened since then to make you this way?"

Julia shook her head and her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I wasn't completely happy, and I certainly wasn't at peace. I was in denial. I finally had allowed myself to submit to you…" her voice trembled. "To my love for you. I thought I could forget everything, bury the past. But I was living in a dream world. And now I've made everything a hundred times worse, for both of us."

"I don't understand."

She sighed heavily and then brought her hand forward from behind her back. She was holding a small plastic tube. Part of it had turned blue.

"Vaughn. I'm pregnant."


End file.
